Your Rival Saw Me Naked

Chapter 33

The praise comes when I least expect it, which is probably why it hits so hard.

“Zoey, stay for a moment,” Professor Klein says as students begin packing up, chairs scraping loudly against the floor.

I hesitate, my pen pausing mid-motion. Around me, people rush to leave like the room might collapse if they linger too long. Miles brushes past my desk without looking at me. Amber’s perfume trails behind her like a warning. When the room finally empties, it’s just me, my professor, and the echo of my own heartbeat.

“Yes?” I say.

Professor Klein adjusts his glasses and picks up my essay from the desk. My name is written neatly in the corner, my handwriting careful, deliberate.

“I wanted to tell you,” he begins, “this is one of the strongest analyses I’ve read in years.”

My mouth opens, then closes. “Oh.”

He smiles. “You argue with clarity. You don’t just summarize—you think. Have you ever considered academic competitions? Conferences? Publications, even?”

My stomach flips. “I… no. I mean. I didn’t think—”

“You should,” he interrupts gently. “You’re wasting potential if you don’t.”

Wasting potential.

The words vibrate through me long after he dismisses me. I walk out of the building in a daze, the autumn air sharp against my skin, my brain buzzing like someone flipped on a switch I didn’t know existed.

I text Chase immediately.

You won’t believe what just happened.

No reply.

I keep walking, past the quad, past the benches, past places that feel too loud for the way my thoughts are spiraling upward. Pride sits in my chest, fragile but real. I want to share it. I want someone to look at me and say, I see it too.

By the time I reach the science building, I know where Chase is.

The roof.

I climb the stairs two at a time, my bag thumping against my hip. The door is unlocked, as usual. When I push it open, the wind hits me first, then the sight of him sprawled on the concrete, earbuds in, eyes closed, cigarette burning lazily between his fingers.

“Chase,” I say.

He opens one eye. “You stalk me now?”

“I texted you.”

He pulls one earbud out. “Didn’t see it.”

“You’re literally on your phone.”

He smirks. “Multitasking.”

I sit beside him anyway. “I got praised today.”

“Yeah?” he says, distracted.

“Like… really praised. He said my essay was one of the strongest he’s read. Ever.”

“That’s cool,” Chase replies. “Told you you’re smart.”

“He suggested competitions,” I add. “Conferences.”

“Mm.”

I wait for more. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?” He flicks ash over the edge of the roof. “Congrats.”

“It’s kind of a big deal.”

“For you,” he says. “School stuff just… doesn’t mean much to me.”

The wind shifts, colder now. “It doesn’t have to mean much to you,” I say carefully. “It just— I wanted you to be excited.”

He laughs softly. “Zoey, if I got excited every time you did well, I’d never calm down.”

“That’s not funny.”

He looks at me then, really looks, irritation flashing across his face. “Why are you making this a thing?”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he insists. “You always do this. You turn moments into pressure.”

“Or maybe,” I say, my voice tightening, “I just want my boyfriend to care.”

“I do care,” he snaps. “Just not about grades.”

I stand abruptly. “I skipped class to find you.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to share something good.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable.

“Well,” he says finally, “you found me.”

I stare at him, something in my chest cracking quietly. “Yeah. I did.”

I leave before he can say anything else.

In the hallway below, my hands are shaking. I press them against my thighs, forcing myself to breathe. Ellen is waiting by the lockers, arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd like she’s counting exits.

“You look like you just ran into a wall,” she says.

“I think I did.”

She tilts her head. “Roof?”

I nod.

“Thought so.”

We walk together toward our next class.

“He wasn’t happy,” I say.

“About your success?” she asks. “Shocking.”

“He joked it off.”

“That’s not joking,” Ellen replies. “That’s minimizing.”

I don’t argue, because I know she’s right.

That afternoon, I sit through lectures in a fog. My notes are messier. My excitement dims, replaced by a dull ache that keeps whispering too much, too much, too much.

When I get home, my mother is in the kitchen, scrolling through her tablet.

“How was school?” she asks.

“Good,” I say automatically.

She looks me over. “You look tired. Are you eating properly?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve lost weight,” she adds. “Not enough to matter, but still.”

My jaw tightens. “Can we not do this?”

She sighs. “I’m just trying to help.”

It never feels like help.

Later, I sit on my bed with my laptop open, Professor Klein’s words echoing in my head. You’re wasting potential if you don’t.

I pull up the competition information he emailed me. Deadlines. Requirements. Essays. Interviews.

This is my world. This is where I feel awake.

My phone buzzes.

Chase: Sorry if I was short earlier.

I stare at the message.

Me: I just wanted to share something important.

Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.

Chase: I know. I’m just not built for that stuff.

The words sink deeper than he probably intends.

Built for what, then? I almost ask.

Instead, I type: Okay.

I close my laptop and lie back, staring at the ceiling. Pride and disappointment twist together inside me, inseparable. I don’t feel wrong for wanting more, but I do feel lonely for wanting it alone.

Outside, the campus hums with late-night life. Somewhere, Chase is probably still on the roof, still avoiding gravity.

And for the first time, the thought settles uncomfortably in my mind:

What if I keep rising… and he doesn’t?